Home
by Beau Bomb Babes
Summary: A soldier comes home. Xigbar/Demyx


_A soldier comes home._

**HOME**

The rumbling of the car beneath his tired body kept him awake.

Xigbar fiddled with the strap of his bag as the taxi spend and bumped along the dirt road. _Home_. Home was where he was headed. A home he hadn't seen in just over two years. _Honourable Discharge_. He'd spent two long years in Afghanistan, defending his country and the home he was missing. He'd had a whole other year ahead of him to spend there too. But plans had changed. His block had been blow sky-high in an enemy attack and he'd been one of the few survivors. Thankfully far enough away that he wouldn't have been killed, but unfortunately close enough that he'd still been caught in the explosion. He'd lost a lot of friends that night. So, half dead and shaken he'd been dragged from the ruins by a man he didn't even know and promptly passed out until a week later when he'd woken up in the recovery room and had been told that it was time for him to head home. _That he'd done a good job_.

He rubbed his tired eyes and let his head bump against the cool glass of the car window. Yes, he had done a good job. He was a damn good soldier and sharpshooter, one that had served his country well, and he'd beat himself silly if he ever let survivor's guilt convince him otherwise.

The soldier let a weary sigh escape his cracked lips as the taxi pulled up to the front of his country home. He smiled and thanked the driver before hauling his bag and cane out of the car and paying his fare. The trek to the door was short and he felt around the door frame for the key he knew his – _boyfriend, lover, partner_ – Demyx kept there just in case. He knew Demyx was off touring with his band as the young musician worried and prayed and hoped that his soldier would come home safely to him. He didn't tell Demyx what happened. Didn't have time and didn't want to. He hadn't even called to tell the kid that he was coming home. All Xigbar had done was call his own family and tell them that he was being discharged, there had been an accident, and he'd politely asked them not to tell Demyx. He wanted the kid to have fun on his first major tour. His band had actually become pretty well known while Xigbar had been _gone_. And the soldier wanted his love to concentrate on the music, not to rush home to cuddle and hold and cry over his broken _Xiggy-Bear_.

The soldier touched his face gently as he traced the jagged scar that now decorated his left cheek. He didn't even want to think about his _ruined_ eye. As if to mock him the damn thing pulsed once, a sharp pain cracking through his skull before fading again. He tugged lightly on the string of his newly acquired eye patch.

In all honesty he'd been lucky. _Damn lucky_. Not only had he not been killed, he'd also not received any major injuries. Sure he lost an eye. So what if he got some big and nasty, scars? That new and permanent limp and swagger he had, so what? He was lucky. And he'd silently cried himself to sleep for a month straight over the poor bastards, _his friends and allies_, who hadn't been so lucky. He had someone looking out for him that was for sure. And he'd thank God every night for the rest of his life for the chance, _the gift_, of being able to spend even _one more day_ with the people he loved.

The door opened with the slightest nudge after he unlocked it and a dropped his bag at the entrance before closing the door and latching the lock behind him. It was dark. Of course it was, he'd come home in the middle of the night to an empty house. In all honesty he probably would have been pissed if he'd come home and the lights were on. Because that would mean a high electric bill caused by Demyx's remembrance, or lack thereof, to turn the lights off before he went off on his tour. Yeah, he would have been pissed. Not that they couldn't pay for it, hell, Demyx alone probably could have paid it off without even making a dent in his wallet, but it was the principle of the thing.

Xigbar rubbed his tired eyes, eye, and meandered through the first floor to the stairs. He laughed softly to himself at the family pictures Demyx had nailed along the wall leading up to the second floor. They were of both of their families. And there were some of them individually and of just the two of them together. And they cheered him up a bit, _more than he'd thought anything aside from Demyx himself could have_, and he rounded the corner and walked of to the master bedroom with a smile on his face.

* * *

He awoke with a start early the next morning after a long a restless night dreaming about fire. So he climbed into the shower after calming himself down and let the water wash away his dreams as the moon sunk beneath the horizon.

* * *

Tuna steak was Xigbar's favourite food. He was a vegetarian. Most people didn't know that.

Xigbar hummed Demyx's latest song to himself as it played on low in the living room while he cooked. He'd unpacked his civilian things earlier that morning and had moved all of his military gear to the attic for safe keeping. The soldier leaned heavily on his cane as he grabbed a plate from one of the cupboards above him. Surprisingly enough he'd adapted quickly and easily to using the damn thing even though he was only thirty and by all means shouldn't have had to use it at all and _goddamn he was still pissed that he had it in the first place because he already had gray streaks in his hair, he didn't need to look older. _But he digressed. The cane never did anything to him so he would suck it up and take it like a big boy. He snickered to himself with a tittering '_That's what she said'_ murmured under his breath before he moved his tuna and rice onto the plate and carried it to the kitchen table then went back again to get a drink from the refrigerator.

* * *

He sighed and groaned and tossed _and turned and turned and tossed and it was hot and he was scared and then-_

He woke up. Sweat clinging to his skin and salt stuck to his flushed face. _Demyx, please come home soon._

* * *

About a week into being home alone and reacquainting himself with civilian life, Xigbar decided it was time to go grocery shopping. The kid would be home in three days and Xigbar wanted a full refrigerator and a newly planted garden to surprise him with. So he threw on a pair of jeans (which he later realized were Demyx's because they fit him a bit _too_ snugly) and a loose button down shirt before sliding on his shoes and dragging himself to the garage. Thankfully Demyx hadn't taken the car to the airport when he'd left. The kid had only taken his own Harley and key and had left Xigbar's car and keys at home. Which saved the marksman a lot of walking.

* * *

The trip to the store had been mildly uneventful. The small town grocer hadn't had many patrons that day, mostly due to the fact that it was a weekday and therefore most people were at work and partially because it was a small town so not many people would have been there in the first place. The owner and the few people that were there, however, had instantly recognized him and just as quickly bombarded him with questions and hugs and _my word Xigbar, what happened to you while you were on duty?_

* * *

Xigbar had gone home that day with free groceries, a trunk full of flowers courtesy of the neighbor that lived three acres away from him, and many well wishes for his health and healing. But then he stopped.

_Blue_ _Harley_.

There was a blue Harley in the driveway and the lights were on _and dear God he wasn't ready to face Demyx_. So he turned off the car and just sat there in the driveway with his heart pounding and his eyes burning holes through the front door and prayed.

It took him ten minutes. Ten full minutes of him just sitting and staring and _breathing_ and hoping he would be able to go in and face him. _Demyx_. Demyx, who he thought deserved so much more than a battered, broken soldier. Demyx who he would hand the world to on a silver platter if he could. Demyx who was so beautiful and perfect and pure who deserved the best of _everything_. And Xigbar, although he knew Demyx loved him and cherished him with all his heart, knew that he himself was not the best of anything. He wasn't before the war, and he definitely wasn't now. Not with his scars and wrinkles and graying hair and limp and _without _his eye.

But he stopped himself. Demyx loved him. And Demyx wanted him. And Demyx would be happy with what he had because he would just be happy that Xigbar was home and _alive_.

So he took a deep breath and got out of the car, and before he even got anywhere near the door, it burst open and the most beautiful blue, tearful eyes stared at him and glistened with all the love the boy could offer.

"_Xigbar_."

And to Demyx the scars and injuries and eye, none of it mattered. Because Xigbar, _his Xigbar_, was home and safe and alive and _real_. And he ran to him and kissed his face, his eye, his nose, his chest, _everything_ and accepted him. Limp and all because hey, Demyx thought the snake headed cane was cool, and _whoa_ _Xiggy you look so buff and you have a tan_.

And Xigbar was finally, _finally_, home.

* * *

This story is dedicated to Forcible and all of the soldiers out there who are on duty, back home, and otherwise.

Love,

Spink

Xoxoxo

HAPPY XIGBAR EYE PATCH DAY!

R&R


End file.
